


All I Want for Christmas is This

by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12



Series: American Dreamers [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Baby Abigail, Christmas Fluff, Christmas concert, Gen, Green Plaid Pants, M/M, Showman Hannibal, Singing, family au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 15:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13149114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12/pseuds/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: Things can never be simple in the Graham-Lecter household, a Christmas concert at Abigail's preschool is no exception...Set in the What You'd find Buried TimelineCan be read on its own.





	All I Want for Christmas is This

**Author's Note:**

> Just some cute shit. Hope you all enjoy! As always, R and R, let me know what you think!

Will stood, waving his arms in a manner far more theatrical than what he was accustomed to (earning stares from more than a few of the parents sitting near him in uncomfortable fold-out chairs) and finally, after what seemed like an hour, Bedelia saw him and began to make her way over. She was dressed smartly in a red and black jacket and shirt ensemble, complete with a hat that Will hoped wouldn’t be so tall as to block the view of the people behind them. Although he had long ago decided that telling Bedelia that her outfit might be disruptive would be about as effective as telling Hannibal the same thing, so until there were complaints, he would let it go.

“That Bedelia?” His father asked, trying his best to turn around without bending his knees too much.

“Did you take your medicine today, dad?”

“I didn’t want to have to get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the show, William.” He retorted, and Will rolled his eyes. He wondered, often, how his father didn’t realize how similar he was to his grandmother and how, the older he got, the more and more and slipped into that façade.

“I put them in his yogurt this morning.” Kathy reassured Will, and Will snorted as his father gave her a hurt look.

“I’m not a dog, Katherine.” But anything else his father felt indignant about had to wait as Bedelia arrived and he stood to give her a hug. Of all the relationships in Will’s life, it was one of his favorites: long before they had technically become family by marriage, the pair always had an easy friendship and his father was one of the few people he actually saw Bedelia ever speak with freely. There were complexities there, old conversations Will knew he never would truly know because of the tumultuous time that his own adolescence had been, but he had decided long ago that whatever the circumstance, he was grateful for it now.

“There are far more people here than I thought there would be,” Bedelia said, settling into the chair between Will and his father. “Parking was difficult.”

“Hannibal got here at four to make sure he could unload the music equipment up close to the door.” Will was also surprised at the large turnout. When he and Hannibal had been looking at preschools the year before, they had attended the show and there had been maybe a third of the current audience. This year, however, Hannibal was in charge of the musical arrangements, costumes, performance, and the advertising (all of which Will had happily assisted with until it became clear he was doing it wrong) and the effort he had put in seemed to have paid off. Nearly every chair was occupied or saved for a late family member, and the counter up front had said that they had more than reached their goal for donations from attendees which was helping to fund the annual Christmas blanket and backpack drive.

“I remember when the two of you had your Christmas debut at Kettering,” Bedelia said, and Will’s father laughed, explaining the story to Kathy and the three of them dissolved into promises to watch the video at a later time and to find embarrassing photos of both him and Hannibal that they could show Abigail.

Will let them talk, looking around the room for others. Margot and Alana were there in the front row, setting up a video camera: apparently Margot had taken up video editing in her spare time and was quite good at it, and the pair of them were making this their contribution to the event. Morgan was nearly three and Alana had told Will that he was driving them mad with the hand bells Hannibal had given him and that Will would be lucky if his husband survived until Christmas if he kept that up.

Bedelia patted his knee as the room darkened and the opening notes of Jingle Bell rock came out through the auditorium. The lights came up and the entire three year old class, dressed like Christmas elves was standing on stage, shaking their handbells as loudly as they could, many of them surprisingly on beat. Will watched as Hannibal came into light at the piano, playing the notes freely, singing along to guide them as the many donated microphones, pulled down to accommodate little children, picked up tiny voices who were doing their best to sing along with him.

Will grinned, watching Alana sit back down, a little tear in her eye as the kids play, an action mimicked by many of the other parents, all of whom were clapping and snapping pictures of their little ones who shied away from the bright lights of the stage. When they finished, the crowd was in uproar, parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and even older siblings were hollering and clapping at the top of their lungs as the little ones waved and disappeared off stage.

Will watched as Hannibal beamed, watching the next group, a mixed group of children come on stage. There were the five year olds, the oldest group at the pre-school, dressed as a mix of shepherds and angels, and each one was escorting one of the one year olds, dressed as all manner of stable animals.

“There’s Abby!” Will’s father exclaimed, practically jumping in his excitement. And it was true, there was his little sheep, her hood pushed halfway off her head, stepping carefully around the stage as a dark-skinned boy helped her, even though she was stepping on his shepherd’s robes. As Hannibal started the first note of “Away in a Manger” the older children started to sing actually very well (if still very high pitched) and the little ones quieted, clinging to their legs as they listened to the music or clapped little hands softly. One little boy, who Will was almost certain was Abigail’s friend Garrett, was dressed as a donkey and took a seat right there on stage, swaying his head and long ears in time with the music.

Will pulled out his own camera, catching pictures of Abigail as she swayed, both of her hands held up by her Shepherd guide, watching her own feet most of the time, but smiling just the same, her round cheeks red in the spotlight.

The collective applause was just as loud, the cheering almost overwhelming to a couple of the little ones who tried to bound off stage only to be stopped by the others holding their hands. Will was amongst the parents, and a glance showed that his whole brood had damp eyelashes at the sight of little Abby up their preforming.

As certain as she was Hannibal’s child, however, she definitely has a flair for the dramatic. As soon as she spotted Hannibal, resting behind his piano in a loud red jacket and green plaid pants ensemble which Will had cringed at more than once, she couldn’t be stopped. “Papa!” She yelled, and the there was a confused murmur in the crowd as to who she was talking to.

Her little Shepherd kept holding her hands, but she was insistent. “Papa!” She shouted again gleefully, and Will watched as she twisted free and bounded over to him, her sheep ears and tail flopping as she ran.

“It’s alright, Curtis.” Hannibal said to the little boy who looked very guilty at her escape. “Hello, Abigail,” Hannibal said, and picked her up in his arms, swinging her around once as she squealed with glee before kissing her forehead. He set her down, Curtis waiting patiently, but she stayed standing, arms crossed in front of him.

“Papa.” She said again, and Will knew the frown. It earned a little laugh from the audience, especially at Hannibal’s eyes widened.

“Alright, little sheep.” Hannibal said, and Will felt his heart leap as he picked her up, putting her in his lap between her arms. “I can use the help, I’m certain.”

Will took many pictures over the collective “Aw” of the audience, who were now even more excited as the two and three year olds came back to the stage for a rousing rendition of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

 

There was no shortage of parents willing to help return the music items to the school. Dozens of them, it seemed, had come up to Hannibal to offer congratulations and thanks for a job well done, and in only a few minutes, everything was cleaned and returned where it ought to be and reindeer, shepherds, angels, animals, Santas, and one little girl who had insisted on dressing as a hot dog began to head to their various houses. Alana had come and given Hannibal a huge hug, loving the pictures she had gotten of Morgan signing the various songs, and promising that the video would be done in time for Christmas itself in two weeks. Other parents, unknown to Will but who clearly knew Hannibal had hugged him the same, offering congratulations and expressing hope for his continued involvement.

“You’re quite the star.” Will said when they finally had a moment to breathe, Abigail sleeping on “Kitty’s” shoulder who was rocking her gently and trying to coordinate his and Kathy’s Christmas gift with Bedelia.

“The children were incredible.” Hannibal said, but beamed at Will’s praise regardless. Will knew he would not take credit, even though he knew how much work this had been, especially since had resumed his full practice nearly at the same time. “A wonderful night to be certain.” And he leaned down in a familiar question.

Will answered correctly with a brief kiss, tugging on his hand so that they might joint the rest of their family. Abigail blinked her eyes opened sleepily at them, “Papa sing.” She said before closing them again. “Pretty.” She added.”

“I think our little sheep is ready for bed.” Hannibal said and Will’s father handed her over without protest.

“I’ll meet you at home.” Will said to him, turning to leave with the tide of parents. “Hannibal,” And Hannibal looked up at him, face still glowing with happiness. “If you could change out of those pants, I would appreciate it.”

Hannibal looked vaguely affronted, but everyone, even Bedelia, couldn’t contain a laugh (though at least she had the decency to cover her mouth). Will winked and headed out the door.

He felt Abigail stir in his arms, lift her head up to look at him as he buckled her into her car seat. “Papa pretty.” She yawned, reaching for the shiny zipper on Will’s Carharrt coat.

“Papa did sing pretty.” Will said. But she shook her head, biting her lip.

“Papa pretty.” She insisted.

“Papa is pretty, too.” Will agreed. But she shook her head and bit her lip again.

“Papa. Pretty. Pants.” She finally managed to say.

“Papa’s pants are pretty?” Will snorted and looked back towards the building. “Well, just don’t tell him that you think that or he’ll never take them off.” Will laughed.

“Papa pretty.” She said again, closing her eyes to sleep.


End file.
